


Take Me Home Tonight

by strangeallure



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Clubbing, Dirty Talk, F/F, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 23:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/pseuds/strangeallure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nyota and Gaila have been roommates and friends for a long time, but the alcohol-fueled end-of-year party at the Academy might change things between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Home Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from The Smiths' "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out", which I find a little pathetic myself. At least it's not Abba's "Knowing Me, Knowing You".
> 
> First posted on LJ in December 2009.

The air is thick and heavy with the heat and sweat of too many bodies. Along the bar and around the small round tables, Starfleet cadets of all ages, races, and levels of inebriation are pushed together. Bodies are thrust against each other by more bodies. Hands on hips and thighs, on cocktail glasses and beer bottles, mouths pressed to ears, shouting over the noise.

Nyota picks up another one of the shot glasses in front of her, and the color changes from blue to amber. She drinks it in one big gulp, shakes her head with the sensation of alcohol burning down her throat, and laughs in Gaila's direction. “I still can’t believe you flirted your way into a whole tray of these.”

“Why not? Bar guy might actually get lucky tonight, you know. I do think he’s kind of cute,” her friend replies as she wraps a strand of long red hair around her finger and bats her eyelashes.

“Gaila,” Nyota almost shrieks and swats her arm lightly, “but not in our dorm room – again. Okay?” Why she’s still a little shocked after living with Gaila for so long, she doesn’t know.

“Come on: last day of the academic year, freaking meds party. I’ll be so smashed, I’ll get it on in whatever bed we’ll still be able to _find_.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, and while Nyota doesn’t approve – not at all –, it still makes her grin. Gaila’s always so open and carefree about these things – unlike her. And unlike her, she would never say ‘these things’ when she means sex. Gaila likes calling things by their name.

Gaila’s not wrong, either. The meds party is not only a tradition, it’s a legend. Once a year, after finals, all cadets with an MD throw the biggest bash this side of the Pacific. There are dozens of stories and theories as to how it all started and why it’s always the MDs. The only thing that seems certain, though, is that it started with the very first academy class. At least that’s what the old, battered banner put up proudly across the room tries to sell: „Starfleet MDs: Experts in substance abuse since 2161“.

Nyota tries not to let herself be distracted by her own thoughts, but the alcohol makes it kind of hard. It’s a serious matter she wants to deal with, though, so she composes herself. She’s been meaning to have this conversation for a while, and Gaila is two shots ahead of her already. If she wants to do this before summer break, it has to be right now.

“Funny how you always seem to find the bed in _our_ room,” she says, good-natured, yet serious. “Next year will be our final year, Gaila. I really need a more regular sleeping schedule. Especially with the extra courses I’m planning to take. And you know how important my grades are to me.” She presses her lips together. “I need to be the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gaila mocks, “Graduate top of the class, pick your assignment – flagship, of course – and boldly go where no-one’s gone before.”

Her mocking is in good humor, Nyota knows. In spite of appearances, Gaila’s academic record is flawless. Even when she’s been out partying all night, she never misses a class or flunks a test. She tries to hide it from her fellow cadets under that slightly ditzy party girl demeanor, but the instructors know. There’s a reason she’s the only student working on the Kobayashi Maru simulation, working on Spock’s team.

“Gaila?”

Her friend touches her arm. “Tell you what: We’ll party tonight, no holds barred. You’ll give me a free pass till tomorrow night, sleep in the library or in someone else’s bed, I don’t care. And I promise I’ll be better next year.”

“Better? How exactly?”

She considers her answer for a moment. “I’ll only bring someone home when there are no classes the next day, I promise.”

Nyota takes another two shot glasses from the tray, one turning red and one orange, and hands the red one to her friend. “Let’s drink to that.”

\--

A few hours later, they’re laughing and dancing and completely wasted. They’ve been on the dance floor most of the night, flirting, swaying and having a great time.

Their skin is flushed and damp, and Gaila has her arms around Nyota’s neck.

Her limbs feel heavy and light at the same time, her own hands resting on Gaila’s hips. They’ve shed the last of their many admirers a long time ago, when Gaila sent the bartender away, pulling Nyota closer instead. It’s just them, moving and laughing and really kind of close.

Somehow, Gaila’s mouth is next to her ear, almost touching, and she can feel the heat of her breath even in the overheated room. It feels different, makes something in her coil, makes her lean in closer still.

It’s like there’s only them.

Suddenly, Nyota realizes that, instead of going all out on her final night of ‘partying with no holds barred’, Gaila is spending that last night at the academy with her. Just her.

All those other cadets who tried to flirt with her, ogle her, steal her away; who can only guess how smooth her skin is, how good she smells, how enticing the soft press of her breast would feel against them – and Gaila chose her. It makes a puzzling jolt of satisfaction run all the way through her, tingling in all the good places, the right places.

“Finally catching on, are you?” Gaila asks, laughter in her voice – and slowly, deliberately, she licks along the shell of Nyota’s ear. It’s completely unexpected, but it only intensifies that tingling feeling. It must be the alcohol. Must be.

When she tries to pull away, ready to make a drunken dorky face and laugh it off, Gaila just holds her tighter. Body against body. Mouth against skin.

“Don’t,” she says, voice going dark. “You wanna go there. Come on, let’s go there,” she murmurs, coaxes, her lips moving lightly over Nyota’s ear, making a strange kind of electricity crackle through her system. And, clearly, she’s very, very drunk because she doesn’t protest, although she’s not … she doesn’t …

She just needs to sober up a little, get away, clear her head.

“I’m not …” she starts, trying to pull away again uselessly. Her effort seems less than half-hearted, even to herself. Surely, that’s the alcohol, too.

“You’re not …” there’s a mocking note in Gaila’s voice, and it shouldn’t feel like this, like something tight and hot in Nyota’s belly, when that voice slides deeper, “interested?”

Gaila pushes herself up against Nyota, breasts rubbing against hers, making her aware of how flimsy both their dresses are, making her aware that her nipples are hard already and tender. “I’m a quarter Betazoid, remember? I _know_.”

She breathes the last words against Nyota’s ear, just lets them hang between them, build in meaning. She _knows_.

Then she pulls away a little, her gaze locking with Nyota’s, lips slightly parted, chest heaving against hers, almost imperceptible rub. Her eyes are like embers, dark and glimmering and hypnotic.

With no conscious decision, Nyota dips her head, moves in – and then they kiss.

Gaila’s lips are softer, fuller, than any Nyota’s ever kissed before. Her mouth more open, yielding, more inviting. She sucks on Gaila’s bottom lip, while her fingers slip over the silky fabric of her dress, seeking out the bare skin on Gaila’s back. She lets her tongue slip back and forth, feeling the texture, the soft ridges, tasting the alcohol and the fruity sweetness of Gaila’s last drink. She bites, she sucks. She takes her time.

She’s drunk and sweaty and in the middle of the dance floor kissing her roommate, possibly her best friend. And she’s so turned on that, for once, she can’t even consider the circumstances. Can’t think about the consequences or the reasons, the whys and hows and why-nots. She just wants.

Wants to lose herself in the way Gaila kisses her back, in the way she nibbles at her lips, licks into her mouth, in the way she presses herself against Nyota, one hand on her thigh, the other on her neck. She wants this to go on and on until their lips are raw and their throats dry. Wants the loud, hot thrum of her blood drowning out everything, everyone.

Gaila pulls away suddenly, but before Nyota can protest, she’s already being lead by her hand, away from the dance floor. “Let’s get out of here,” Gaila smiles, almost leers, with an expression that’s equal parts goofy and sexy and drunk.

They leave the bar quickly, the cool and crisp of the night hitting them, heads swimming with the sharp contrast to the muggy air in the club. Nyota steers them towards the dorms, but as soon as they reach the tech building, Gaila drags her to the side entrance. She uses the thumb scanner and her student assistant privileges to let them in after hours.

Before the door’s even completely closed behind them, Gaila already pulls her into a nook with a huge window, pecking her on the lips lightly. When she tries to deepen the kiss, Gaila moves her head away, though, and giggles into her neck, “’S better here. My roommate doesn’t like it if I bring someone home.”

Nyota has to laugh at that, too – a little dumb, more than a little drunk – but before she can get out more than a not-really-indignant “Hey,” Gaila swipes her mouth wetly over hers and whispers against her lips, “Plus: I couldn’t possibly wait longer to really taste you.”

Her meaning’s so clear, and Nyota draws a sharp breath, “ _God_. Gaila.”

Gaila presses her forehead against Nyota's, head moving as if to dive in for another kiss, but then pulling away again, hands sliding from her hips down her thighs. “Do you like that? Do you like that I want to eat you out? That I want to know what your pussy tastes like?”

And, fuck, it’s so hot, electric, to just have Gaila say it like that, announce it like that, make her anticipate it like that.

“Yeah.” She exhales more than she says it, and feels Gaila smile against her lips.

Gaila’s fingers skim up her thighs, under her dress this time. One deft hand moves up quickly and finds the waistband of her panties, slipping in. She cups Nyota for a moment, squeezing lightly, soft pressure making her push into Gaila’s hand.

God, that’s good. It’s been so long, too long, and Gaila’s hand feels just right: slender fingers, perfect pressure; her mouth soft but heavy on Nyota's, swallowing her moans.

It’s surreal, almost. She’s drunk and horny and pressed against a picture window, and she can’t even care. It must be the alcohol loosening her up, but the idea of someone seeing, of getting caught, just adds to the buzz beneath her skin.

Gaila’s fingertips travel up over Nyota's pussy slowly, and a finger teases between her folds, dragging easily through the slick heat. Not quite where she wants it, but close.

Gaila brings her hand up, close to her mouth. There’s moonlight streaming in and Nyota can see the finger glisten. Gaila’s lips close around her own finger, sucking languidly as her eyes slide shut.

She takes her time, making a cut-off little noise, as if she loves the taste, as if she can’t get enough.

It makes Nyota’s head spin, makes her dive in, kiss Gaila rough and messy, so Gaila's lips let go of the finger, and Nyota can eat her own taste from Gaila’s mouth.

Soon, Gaila’s hands are slipping Nyota’s dress from her shoulders, and she bites her way down Nyota's throat. Her mouth skims over the thin cotton of her bra, and Gaila closes it around one nipple, lapping over it, getting the fabric all wet.

Her nipple grows tighter, so hard it’s almost too much, and her mouth goes dry. There’s that hot twist deep down low. It makes her hands clamp down on Gaila’s head, tangling in her beautiful hair – half pulling her closer, half wanting to push her down.

Fuck, just looking down, seeing Gaila kneel in front of her, seeing her mouth move, feeling what it does, seeing how intent she is, focusing solely on Nyota – she looks amazing, gorgeous.

Why didn’t she see it sooner? What took her so long?

Gaila looks up for a moment, eyes deep and dark, look knowing, and she pulls Nyota’s panties down.

Nyota steps out of them willingly, eagerly.

Gaila goes slow, though, paying no mind to the way Nyota juts her hips forward, to the way she spreads her legs. Instead, there’s teasing, tingling butterfly kisses and soft licks all over her stomach. There are hands massaging her ass, keeping her in place. There’s filthy praise murmured against her skin.

She feels herself clench involuntarily, feels the wetness pooling as her body lights up.

“Please,” she groans, “please.”

This time, Gaila doesn’t tease. Instead, she licks inside Nyota's pussy with one long, smooth stroke of her tongue.

“So good,” she whispers, breath cool against hot wetness, making Nyota shiver. She licks in again, deeper this time, tongue pushing against the entrance. Gaila’s hands slip from Nyota’s ass to her hips, tilting her body a little, holding her just so.

And then, she laps further up, short strokes of her tongue until she reaches Nyota’s clit.

Fuck. The way she swipes the flat of her tongue across, the way she pushes the tip of it in under the hood and swirls it around. The rougher texture of her tongue, the heat and friction and pressure against Nyota’s flesh – it’s so fucking exciting, so impossibly hot.

Nyota doesn’t even notice her one hand digging deeper into the back of Gaila’s head, even as her other hand moves up to catch her own nipple between two fingers, tweaking it. Slight pain a delicious counterpoint to how Gaila eats her out.

Her breath is so heavy, coming out in gasps and small cries, and she’s so goddamn wet, even as Gaila keeps licking and sucking and moaning how good she tastes, how hot she is, how much she’s wanted this.

It turns Nyota on even more, makes her louder, gets her closer.

And then Gaila pulls her mouth away and stands back up. Roughly, she pulls Nyota close, mashing her mouth against Nyota’s, making their teeth click and their tongues tangle as she pushes Nyota’s own taste into her mouth.

“You’re fucking delectable. Even better than I thought,” she mutters, not bothering to separate her lips from Nyota’s.

She’s rubbing against Gaila, spread legs bracketing one thigh, getting the fabric of Gaila’s dress all wet, all messy.

“Why are you still dressed?” she pants out, eager to feel Gaila skin on skin.

“You want to get me all naked? Finally feel, not just look?” Gaila’s voice is somewhere between roughed up and teasing, and it messes with Nyota’s head so much, she almost doesn’t ask.

“Finally?”

“Come on,” Gaila replies, biting into her earlobe playfully, even as her voice grows darker.

“How often did you come home earlier than you told me?” Her thigh pushes firmly between Nyota’s legs.

“How often did you forget that a meeting was postponed or cancelled?” Her hands grab Nyota’s ass and grind her down into Gaila's thigh, making her gasp.

“How often did you pause before our room, thinking I wasn’t alone, and then going in anyway?” She locks eyes with Nyota, gaze so intense, seeing right through her, seeing what she didn’t really see herself.

“I _know_ ,” Gaila says, raspy and sexy, “I could feel it. I could feel how excited you were, how turned on. And I could feel you stomp the emotion out every time.”

Her first instinct is to deny it, to tell Gaila she’s wrong. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the mood, maybe it’s the situation, but her defense mechanism doesn’t kick in as quickly this time. Instead, there are flashes of past scenes in front of her eyes, shreds of memories in her mind.

So many times she did come home earlier than she had said. So many times she only caught Gaila because she had messed up her own schedule. So many times she did suspect there was something going on and went into their room without knocking anyway.

Oh God, Gaila is right.

She did … she was … all this time.

That hot bolt she knows so well, the one she feels every time she catches Gaila with someone, the one she always identifies as annoyance and tries to dismiss – it’s something else. Has maybe always been something else.

She feels exposed, so exposed. If it weren’t for the alcohol, she would be embarrassed, ashamed, but as it is, all she can concentrate on is the rough sexiness in Gaila’s voice, the way this runs deeper than she knew herself.

“Peeping Tom,” Gaila smiles, teases, “always trying to catch me naked.” She unzips her own dress and lets it slide to the floor. She doesn’t wear a bra, and her breasts are so round and supple and beautiful – just like Nyota remembers from glances stolen in the past. Only this time, she gets to look openly, she gets to touch.

She cups one breast in each hand, palms not able to hold all, flesh so soft and firm and yielding. Gaila inhales sharply, pressing into her hands a little.

“So good, Nyota. I knew you’d be so good,” she moans out, “I knew it from the dreams you had every time you caught me. Always so fucking hot, almost came just from sensing your emotions while you slept.”

God, she thinks, this should be so embarrassing, it really should be. To not share these things with Gaila, but learn them from her – and to instinctively know that it’s true.

But there’s only Gaila and her gorgeous body and her dirty words and the way they want each other. No way of stopping it now that the current is running high, connecting them.

Quickly, they get rid of their remaining clothes, until they’re pressed against each other, hot, sweaty skin touching and rubbing and so fucking good.

They kiss again, slow becoming fast, tentative becoming urgent, tender becoming rough, and she slides her leg between Gaila’s thighs. She can feel wetness there, can feel it cling to her own skin, and it winds her up higher, makes her want to go down and taste Gaila’s arousal, just like Gaila tasted hers.

When she tries to, though, Gaila’s hands keep her in place. “No. I wanted this too long.” She kisses Nyota deep, insistent. “Let me do this my way.”

Nyota doesn’t really know what _my way_ means, but she nods. Everything Gaila has done tonight has been amazing, has felt amazing. Nyota almost desperatly wants to find out.

Gaila’s mouth presses against hers again, tongue licking inside, teeth teasing, lips sucking, and Nyota feels fingertips trail along her hips and down between her thighs. _God, yes_.

Gaila’s finger rubs over her clit, drawing a moan.

Suddenly, she uses her other hand to push Nyota back, back against the glass of the picture window. Nyota arches away from the cool surface instinctively, even as she moans louder.

She’s up against that window now. Pinned, exposed to the outside – and she can’t care because of how Gaila kisses her, forceful and needy, because of how she slides two fingers inside of Nyota at once, because of how she pushes up easily into her slick, warm hole.

It’s rough and fast, movement of Gaila’s hand shoving her up against the glass, making her sweaty back cling to it. Small squeaking sound on every up and down. Nyota just doesn't care.

She wants this. So bad. Loves that it’s Gaila’s fingers driving inside of her, that it’s Gaila’s body trapping her against the glass, that it’s Gaila’s mouth never letting up, even as the breaths they share are drawn heavier on each turn, chests heaving, panting into each other.

Gaila begins scissoring her fingers, testing the stretch, the give, making her gasp away from the kiss.

“You’re so hot like this, Nyota,” she murmurs, fingers still stretching, but slowing down, going back to teasing. “So eager for me, so needy, ready for more.” She scrapes her teeth over Nyota’s mouth quickly, then goes on in that throaty voice: “I love how much you want this. It makes me fucking crazy, feeling how turned on you are.”

Her smile is all kinds of dark and promising, and she deliberately rubs her breasts, her nipples, against Nyota’s, even as her fingers stand almost still. “Like a fucking feedback loop, picking up more static each time. It almost makes me come, just feeling you.”

“Please,” Nyota hears herself whimper. She’s clutching at Gaila’s back, rubbing against her breasts, pushing herself onto her fingers; wanting more, wanting it deeper and harder and oh so good. Knowing that Gaila can give it to her.

Gaila’s one hand clamps down on Nyota's hip, holding her still. “Please … what?”

And god, Nyota’s done playing. She’s beyond pride at this point, but her voice is firm, eyes fixing Gaila’s: “Please. Fuck me. Fuck me so hard, I’ll still feel it when I’m on my shuttle back home tomorrow. Fuck me so I’ll remember.”

Without preamble, Gaila pushes a third finger in and begins thrusting into her; powerful, but still slow. It’s good, the light stretch, the ever-so-slight burn and she feels herself clench around Gaila, feels the urge to draw her in deeper.

“Faster,” she groans. Gaila speeds up. Her thumb juts out and presses against Nyota’s clit, uncoordinated and messy and unpredictable, sending those tiny electric charges through Nyota on every rub.

She’s so aware, so aware of everything: of the glass beneath her, the cling and catch of their sweaty bodies, the way their hard nipples are pushed together, the sounds they’re making, both: too harsh, too loud, almost unreal in the empty academy building.

It’s so good, so hot, and yet she wants more: “Harder, please.”

Gaila’s mouth slips from hers, face dipping into the crook of her neck and then she bites down as her thrusts get even faster, almost violent. “You’re so fucking hot, Nyota. So slick and wanton for me. You’re gonna come for me, too; better than you ever have.” She pushes against Nyota with her whole body now, fingers curled slightly as she shoves in so hard there’s a burn, even with how wet Nyota is.

Nyota can’t help it; she hooks one leg around Gaila’s hip, pulling and pushing and feeding into the relentless rhythm Gaila is setting.

Gaila’s hand is sliding up from Nyota's hip to her breast, and her mouth is on Nyota's again, more biting than kissing. Gaila catches the nipple between her fingers, twisting it – hard – right when she pushes with just an extra ounce of force, an extra twist of her wrist, an extra bit of _different_. Different enough to make Nyota fall apart, to make _them_ fall apart.

It’s a long, hot ripple tearing all through her body, making her moan deep down in her throat, all real and animal and new.

It’s like it doesn’t stop with her, doesn’t stop at the border of her skin. Like it rips straight through to Gaila, grasping her and shaking her as she gives the roughest, hottest cry Nyota’s ever heard.

Nyota gasps and jerks, aftershocks making her push, riding out her orgasm on Gaila’s fingers, and Gaila ruts up against Nyota until, finally, they both grow still, breathing labouredly. Gaila’s hand slips from Nyota and her body is leaning heavy against her, mouth still hot against Nyota’s neck.

When both their breathing has evened out, Gaila pulls away a little, stroking a damp strand of hair from Nyota’s face.

Her expression is sated and fond, and Nyota’s thankful that Gaila’s able to sense her emotions. After this, there doesn’t need to be a talk on the status of their relationship, on whether this was a one-time thing or even a mistake. All there needs to be is sleep.

She brings her hand up to Gaila’s cheek, smoothing some wild curls back and smiles.

“You know what?” Nyota says. “Fuck your roommate. Let’s get dressed - I’m taking you home tonight.”


End file.
